


Just Another Girls' Day Out

by symbolcrash



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, General, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symbolcrash/pseuds/symbolcrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girls leave the Doctor, the Brigadier, and Ancelyn to their own devices while they seek a little time outside of chaos. Chaos tends to drown those who wade in it, however, and a simple gamble turns into a terrible coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cribbage and Beer - That's Why I'm Here

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I want to take simple, happy things and turn them into horrible lumps of violence and angst. This takes place directly after Battlefield, and I have no idea where it's going. Cheers!

The road was forgiving all the way to the city. Either that, or Bessie had buffers against the sort of poorly-paved wrinkles in the lush countryside, a sure sign that the peaceful glen would dissolve into row flats and neatly parked Vauxhalls within mere minutes. Shou Yuing, clutching her knees with misleadingly delicate fingers, leaned forward and put her chin close to the shoulder of Doris Lethbridge-Stewart. “What a day, yeah?”   
  
Doris turned back with something of a tense smile on her lips. “From the little I’ve heard, yes. It sounded very exciting and I will be exceedingly glad if it never, ever happens again.”   
  
“Tell me about it,” Shou laughed in agreement, and that seemed to assuage the tension from the older woman’s face. She leaned back again and put her arms behind her head. “Though, if it ends like this, I’m kind of glad for it — well, certain parts, anyway.”   
  
“Could definitely live without the —“ Brigadier Winifred Bambera glanced at Doris, then sighed. “You know. The ‘bad parts.’” She twisted her lips a little — she hated to be vague and always preferred to leave facts uncoated, but if Doris knew exactly what had almost happened to her husband, she might never let him leave the estate. Of course, being a military wife, she would know the risks in grim detail, and why would she have let him leave in the first place? There was always a very thin, erratic line separating the acknowledgement of duty and the encroaching fear — never more in the soldiers fighting wars than in the minds of the soldiers’ lovers and families. Friends — yes, friends as well. Winifred blinked for a moment at the back of the driver’s head. Ace — she’d fought such battles, presumably, but how old was she? Couldn’t be more than eighteen, and here she was, nearly as mysterious as the Doctor himself.  _Infuriating little man_ , Winifred mused, though it was not without a light heart. Still, she wondered if the Doctor felt it right to be taking children into these fire fights — if the Brigadier was accurate in his description of the Doctor’s habit of taking young women away with him into time and space, they seemed to be getting younger as the Doctor aged.   
  
A funny thought crossed Winifred’s mind, and she pressed her lips together in wry contemplation. Did the Doctor age? Or did he simply do his changeling thing whenever he wanted to look younger — or older? There was so much about him that she didn’t understand; all she knew is that he saved worlds and left incredible messes behind. “The good parts wouldn’t be the good parts without the bad parts,” Doris said suddenly, turning to face Winifred with a sincere smile. “Now come, ladies, this little outing is supposed to be fun.”   
  
“Who’s not having fun?” Ace grinned, her grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly as she ventured to take her eyes off the road for a second. “I’m having a blast. Bessie drives like a beaut. I can’t believe the Professor let me — usually, I touch something of his that’s all technologically advanced and he slaps my hands like I’m five or something.” She laughed.   
  
“Maybe it’s because this isn’t a technologically advanced machine?” Shou suggested.   
  
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Winifred, a sly smile creeping up her face.   
  
“Yeah,” Ace agreed, “the Doctor could modify a bag of Twiglets to travel through time if he wanted, I think.”   
  
“Time travelling Twiglets?” Shou opened her mouth in mock horror. “Bad enough already…”   
  
“At least it’s alliterative,” said Doris, and the four of them gave the idea a good laugh.   
  
The city loomed before them, a concrete giant emerging from the ground. Ace focused on not crashing the Doctor’s car into a mailbox. “We nearly there, then?” Shou asked.   
  
“Yeah,” Ace said again. “Nearly.” She turned to give Doris her best expression of innocence. “So, we still got that deal, then?”   
  
Doris glanced heavenwards, then shook her head as if she were long-suffering. “I’d be an enabler. Of course, as I’m driving back, I suppose there’s no need to worry…”   
  
Ace beamed. “Wicked.”   
  
“What’s this deal, then?” Shou leaned in, ready to conspire.   
  
“Oh, the Doctor never lets me drink anything fun. I think the unspoken rule is that if there’s to be imminent, life-threatening danger, then you got to have a clear head,” Ace explained. “We’ve had that crisis already, so I think I deserve a little kick-back.”   
  
“One,” ordered Winifred. “The fact that we’ve just had a crisis should put us all on high alert. The consumption of anything that alters your perception shouldn’t be allowed —“   
  
“Bunk,” pouted Ace.   
  
“— however, if a drink will calm your nerves, you may have  _one_.”   
  
“You’re worse than the Doctor.” Ace looked sullen. “At least he doesn’t use straight logic on me,” she mumbled, “seems all I do is meet up with people who’re right all the bloody time…”   
  
“I’ll have one with you,” Shou grinned. “We’ll make it last the whole time — make it seem like we’re drinking more.”   
  
Ace smiled. It was a little forlorn, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Sure thing,” she said, and Bessie pulled into a park. Letting her gaze travel the height of the building that was their destination, Ace curled her hands into excited fists and shrugged her shoulders with the energy that welled up from her core. “Well, what do you think?”   
  
Shou leaned in, her voice mired in confusion. “You sure this is it?”   
  
“Well, why wouldn’t it be?” Ace almost sounded offended. “Just ‘cause it’s not posh on the outside doesn’t mean it’s got no class.”   
  
Doris opened her door first. “I think I’ve been left out of too many adventures, personally.” She patted Bessie’s bonnet. “It’s just a pub, but with present company, I feel like I’m embarking on something exciting.”   
  
“Six-card cribbage is my kind of exciting,” said Winifred blandly, in such a way so the others couldn’t quite tell whether or not she was serious.   
  
Doris responded by holding up her little leather bag. “At least we don’t have to take turns. That would make for a terribly boring game half the time.”   
  
“What’s the stakes?” Shou asked. She leapt out of the back seat and landed with gymnastic grace on the pavement below. “Can’t play cribbage without stakes.”   
  
“Now you’re starting to sound like my nephew,” Winifred smirked. “He’d gamble with a duck for a stale pasty.”   
  
“I say we play for whatever we have in our pockets.” Doris rounded Bessie’s front end and stepped up onto the curb, every bit as dignified as she dressed. She had a show smile; it was soft, only showing a few white teeth, and could easily be paired with a slight, rotating wave. Somehow, the approval of a wretched thing like gambling seemed like it shouldn’t come from her — but there she was, holding the boards high in her hand. “I have some money, but the rest? A few trinkets I think might prove interesting for those studying their history.”   
  
Ace grimaced. “Boy, I bet I’ve got the most to lose, then.”   
  
Shou laughed. “What, you loaded or something?”   
  
“Loaded in a way. I don’t think you’d quite understand all the stuff I’ve got in here…” Ace shook her coat a little. She pulled out a blue crystal, a miniature screwdriver set, and something that looked like a little metal spider. “It’s the Doctor’s fault, really. Though I’m sure some of this stuff is valuable  _somewhere_.” She stuffed the menagerie back into the folds of her bomber jacket.   
  
“Best play well, then,” Winifred smiled, a rare twinkle in her eye. “Hope the luck of the cards is on your side.”   
  
“Pfah, there’s some strategy. Just not enough to make it really interesting.” Ace shoved her hands in her pockets, presumably shifting some odds and ends about to get her hands all the way down. “Well, it’s something to do, innit? Get away from the boys for a little while?”   
  
“Mm,” agreed Doris, “though I do hope they’re safe. That Doctor of yours — I’ve heard such stories —“   
  
“I’ve got a few myself,” Ace said proudly, hopping off Bessie’s door and starting toward the cement stairway with the rusted railing. “I don’t know whether I’d call him mine or not, but sometimes I think a leash wouldn’t be a bad idea…”   
  
Shou chuckled. “Wow, must be wicked, though, travelling through time and space like you do and all.”   
  
“It is,” Ace sighed. “It really is.” A silence blanketed the streets, and Ace jumped forward. “Well, to cribbage?” She jogged down the stairs.   
  
“To cribbage, indeed,” Doris smiled, and she followed daintily behind.   
  
  
  
**   
  
  
  
“Awh, that’s fifteen-eight, and two pair is twelve, you’re finally on, are you?” Ace leaned forward with a confident smile. “I thought you said you were good.”   
  
“I am,” Doris tilted her head, mouth all turned down, exasperated with Ace’s competitive babbling. “I’ll skunk you yet, just watch.”   
  
“This beer is delicious,” Ace smiled, and she took a tiny sip to punctuate her sentence.   
  
“Slow down, Ace.”   
  
“ _Winifred_ ,” she clipped, “if I slow down any more, I’ll have to drink this thing down by telekinetic osmosis. Your crib, Mrs Lethbridge-Stewart.”   
  
“Speaking of Mrs,” Winifred began, her fingers tapping the cards she held, “Ancelyn proposed.”   
  
“Did he  _really_?” Doris squealed — strangely, Ace noted — like an adolescent at a rock concert. “Why, that’s terrific news.”   
  
“Shame, I’m not so certain,” Winifred said gravely. “There’s a lot to consider when —“   
  
“Yeah, yeah, when you’re in the military and goin’ off and doin’ stuff that could kill you.” Ace leaned her chin on her upturned hands. “I know all about that. Leaving people behind.”   
  
“Do you?” Winifred asked simply. She took a drink of coffee. “He’s not from here — not even from this dimension. Part of me is intrigued, but part of me —“   
  
“Doesn’t want to get hurt,” Shou finished, a sympathetic frown on her face.   
  
“I don’t even know why I bother to talk,” said Winifred. “You lot obviously can do it for me.”   
  
Doris laid a hand tentatively upon Winifred’s forearm, positioning herself so that she would be forced to make eye contact. “If he truly loves you, then it’s really worth it,” she whispered. “I stood behind Alastair every second, and I still do. If Ancelyn can do the same — well, you’ll be all the stronger for it.” She smiled. “I like to think of myself as his ‘ace in the hole,’ if you will.”   
  
“Really?” Ace grinned. “That’s — well, that’s ace!”   
  
“I agree,” rasped an unfamiliar voice. A tall man, well-built and all in dark colours, leaned against the table. He had a pistol in his hand. Two other men stood behind him, gruff, masked, and camouflaged. They were armed up with FN FALs.   
  
Safety off. True to target.   
  
 _Oh, hell._    
  
“Now, if you will kindly shut up and come with us, it will make your situation far more favourable.”   
  
Ace exhaled sharply as the barrel tip dug into her scalp.   
  
“Aw, no way.”


	2. In a Handbasket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken so many liberties with everything. Please don't strike me down; I assure you, I mean well. :)

Winifred did not look happy. She could deal with the smug, sinister-looking fellows who sat a few meters away, watching her every move and grinning at each disparaging scowl. She could deal with the binds that cut into her wrists when she tried to shift them just enough to give her some wiggle room; she was nearly immune to pain, so even the raw spots proved nothing more than an inconvenience to be shrugged off.   
  
All things taken into account, it was the absence of  _one_  which caused Winifred to bristle: her gun. The bastards took her gun.  
  
Shou was closest to it; it lay neglected on a cellar shelf against the far wall. The girl didn’t seem to be paying it much mind, though. Her eyes were on the floor — away from the gun, and away from the men who held them all captive. She looked tired.  
  
Winifred worried most about Doris. The older woman was staring straight ahead, her lips pursed so tightly that a ring of white was forming about her mouth. Never before had a creature of grace looked so brittle than now; it seemed that movement of any sort would shatter her skin, a million angry shards darting through space. Winifred wondered if she was thinking about her Alastair, now — and a rush of cold guilt pooled in her stomach, as up until she’d made the connection, she’d completely forgotten about Ancelyn.   
  
She spared him a moment, imagined him mowing the lawn, then continued thinking about how best to arm herself again…  
  
Ace was all hell and spitfire, hurling insults and clever colloquialisms at the dark-clothed man faster than the speed of light itself. “What gives you the right, toerag? We don’t have anything of yours; we told you as much!”  
  
The man folded his arms and stepped up close to her, glowering down his nose before dismissing her with a snort of derision. “I suppose your little game was sending out the GFT Economic Crisis beacon, then?” He gave her ponytail a sharp tug.   
  
“Ow!” Ace jerked forward and made a move to bite him, but he was too quick. “Like I said: no clue, mate. You can go on about crisis beacons and —“  
  
She stopped. “Hang on a minute, crisis beacon?” Her entire demeanour changed from one of insolence to cool suspicion. “Who  _are_  you?”  
  
“That’s strictly need-to-know,” sneered the dark-clothed man.  
  
“I am Brigadier Winifred Bambera of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce,” barked Winifred, “and as you are committing no less than eighteen criminal and political offences simultaneously at present, might I suggest that  _I need to know?_ ”  
  
Shou looked up at last. “I think what she’s saying is that — I’m not sure how we’d know what we’ve got of yours if you don’t tell us what it is. Not trying to be cheeky or anything, but it’s the truth. We might be able to help you find it if we know what it looks like.”  
  
Ace gave a sharp laugh. “I’ll help my foot find his ar —“  
  
“Shh,” said Winifred. “That’s a point. More diplomatic than I’d like to do at this junction,” she growled, “but for now, it’s all we’ve got.” She jutted her chin out toward their lead captor. “Well? What’s it look like, then?”  
  
“Bigger than a bread bin?” muttered Ace.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing…”  
  
The man looked like he was trying to magnetise some dignity; he puffed out his chest a little, then, and he reminded Winifred of an offended cat just out of the bath. “Small,” he said finally. “It’s an ambulatory coin.”  
  
One of the men guarding the door spoke up. “Yeah, it’s worth ten m —“  
  
“Shut up!” roared his superior. “No doubt they realise it’s worth something, because otherwise we wouldn’t be on this pathetic strip, calls itself a planet.”  
  
“Alien?” Shou gaped, glancing at Ace. She sighed. “ _Again?_ ”   
  
“Knew it,” Ace shook her head. An anxiety, though, was beginning to grow tendrils in her gut; she would now be lying if she continued to play the fool. Conversely, if she were to just hand over the little metal spider, she would have no idea if she were playing into a grand scheme of galactic thievery, toppling economies — and besides, it was the Professor’s coin, wasn’t it? He said it was valuable; he let her hang onto it, and it’d be like betraying him if she gave it to some sod with a pistol.  
  
 _Exotic alien swords are easy to come by_ , he’d said.  _Aces are rare._  Still, did she want to be responsible for the Doctor’s constant sacrifices?  
  
Ace’s inner monologue was jarred, suddenly, by a quiet throat-clearing noise to her right. Doris was regarding the man with a tentative sort of contemplation, eyes roaming over his face as if it were a stove she thought she’d left on, and the only way to tell was to touch the burner. “You’re — you’re extra-terrestrial, then.” It was a statement, not a question — the first thing she’d said since they left the pub.  
  
“To  _you_ ,” he spat.  
  
“And you’re — real.”  
  
The man let out a cold chuckle. “Unfortunately for you,” he retorted.  
  
Winifred bit her tongue.  _Oh no. Here it comes_.  
  
However, instead of nursing a nervous breakdown, Doris murmured something that sounded like “the Doctor,” lifted her chin up, and held the man with a level gaze. “I figured as much,” she said simply.   
  
Winifred fought the overwhelming urge to let her jaw drop. Doris must have caught the way the Brigadier was looking at her, because she shrugged then and fiddled with the bindings at her back. “When you sleep next to a man who spent most of his days with hell, war, blood, and the unexplainable,” she explained, “it’s inevitable that you become part of his nightmares.” She turned back to the man in dark clothes. “I don’t know who you are, sir, or where this money of yours walked off to, but we have nothing to do with it.”   
  
Ace swallowed.  
  
Doris steeled herself. “Let us go!”  
  
The man leaned in. “Then give me the  _coin_.” His lips curled into a spit-shimmered snarl. “I know it’s here! I have the signal!”   
  
Shou twisted her face up, anger lining every corner of her open mouth. “Who puts homing signals on  _money?_  Sounds stupid to me.”  
  
“I can’t think of any civilisation would be stupid enough not to,” the man snapped. “In times of economic crisis, all activated coinage broadcasts a high-range, low-frequency signal so our government can locate it. If it cannot return to where it was minted, agents are sent out and attempt to recover it through trade or —“ he smirked — “other means.”  
  
“So it’s like when you lose change in the sofa,” Ace breathed, “except your change lets you know where you lost it.”  
  
“And that signal is coming from us?” Winifred asked, disbelief in her eyes. “What use would we have for an ambulatory coin?”  
  
Just then, an almost imperceptible rustle issued from Ace’s pocket. Two spindly mechanical legs peeked out, followed by soft noises — a tinny whirr, and a click. The coin looked almost timid, clinging to the pocket fringe as if hesitant to go forward.  
  
“Oh, my God,” whispered Winifred.  
  
Ace met the fierce glare of the dark-clothed man with a sheepish grin. “Er,” she said. “Found it?"


End file.
